Different way
by okulla
Summary: What if their visit in Helston was fruitful?
1. Chapter 1

_Because of my poor English I've asked for help. And I've got it from amazing Beta – coldie voldie. Now this story has two authors. Even if I have written the scheme of "Different way", this is she who is filling it with colours and life. Thank you, coldie voldie!_

Chapter 1

She had been in London four months, and still had not gotten used to the habits and rituals of her new life. There were calls to make, people to chat with, and shops to visit with her cousin Edith. Sometimes she fancied herself a doll: a pretty face to be dressed and pampered by her aunt and cousin, and then placed on a sofa by the fireplace to entertain their guests. Margaret knew that they loved her very much, but presently she felt quite ungrateful. She shouldn't really; she had no one but this family. No one who would love her, support her during her hard days of grieving over the loss of her mother and father. When no one was looking at her, she would close her eyes and picture herself miles and miles away, in a far less elegant sitting room in Crampton. She pictured a pair of bright blue eyes, and saw herself opening her mouth to say "Yes!". When she was lucky enough to remain undisturbed for even longer, she would imagine his expression at her answer. How his face might morph from perpetual seriousness to something lighter. These were her favorite pastimes of each day.

And the happiness she felt from these images was so great, that anyone who saw her in that moment could easily recognize the Margaret Hale of Helstone.  
But she was no longer in the North; she was in London again, and presently involved in her social duties. Calls, chats, tea…in short, everything that irritated her while simultaneously saddening her with longing. And any who had taken time to observe her closely would plainly see that she was not yet recovered from the death of her father. From the loss of the life she had come to truly cherish, perhaps more than her childhood haven. And she was mourning the loss of a hope she hadn't realized she even possessed. Those who were closest to her each had their own opinion on what was best to bring her out of her reverie:

Edith thought that Margaret ought to entertain.

Her Aunt Shaw though that Margaret out to marry.

Henry thought that Margaret ought to marry him.

When Margaret did finally catch on to the fact that each person believed they knew what was best for her, and each (in their own way) was forcing her to take part in their schemes, she fought back. She tried to show them how mistaken they were. That none of their solutions would help her. But after many weeks, she admittedly had very little success. They listened, but they did not hear, it would seem.  
She began to feel like a foreigner in a strange country that she knew nothing about. No one understood her, and she understood less about them. A loneliness greater even then when her father died, began to settle upon her heart, and she felt homesick. At least she had been at home then, surrounded by familiarity and comfort. But this was home now, wasn't it? No, home wasn't here. It was in Milton.

After all, home is where your heart is.

But there was no way back home for her, was there? She had no money, and had been placed in her aunt's care. Worse still, she knew she was being ungrateful by wishing so desperately for her independence.

The day Mr. Bell visited her was memorable. It was the first time she had truly smiled in ages. The others in the household thought it a true and proper miracle: she was talking, questioning, even teasing the old man! Mr. Bell himself, a keen observer if ever there was one, noticed the puzzled expressions on the others faces, and caught a few remarks as they passed between her aunt and cousin. He was used to reading between the lines, and was not disappointed in himself. Upon his third visit to Harley Street, he asked Margaret if she wanted to visit Helstone.  
Her enthusiastic response had convinced him, and a surety settled upon his chest as he felt he was certain of the reason for her response. There had always been a strange connection and silent understanding between them, and Mr. Bell would beat around the bush in this matter. He waited only until after their rather unpleasant visit to the Parsonage, he led her to a bench sitting upon a bank in the old garden. Margaret seemed somewhat preoccupied, and rather disappointed. After much persuasion on his part, she eventually told him about herself: the lie she had spoken to Mr. Thornton, her concerns and doubts regarding his opinion of her, and just how very, very lonely she was. For a moment hesitated, unsure of himself, and the plan he concocted. But his academic sense won out in the end. After all, it really was the only way.  
"Margaret," He said slowly. "I want you to listen to me completely, and remain calm until I finish." She looked at him somewhat alarmed. "I want you to marry me."


	2. Chapter 2

_Because of my poor English I've asked for help. And I've got it from amazing Beta – coldie voldie. Now this story has two authors. Even if I have written the scheme of "Different way", this is she who is filling it with colours and life. Thank you, coldie voldie!_

Chapter Two

She looked at him with such a disbelieving expression on her face, that he very nearly laughed at the sight of it. But there was no time to waste on it; Even though Margaret was astonished, he had to make her understand him properly.  
"There were quite a few circumstances that led me to making this decision." He began, looking her square in the eyes. "Firstly: I promised your father that I would look after you, and care for you as he would. Secondly: I have known for some time, if the tone of your letters suggests anything, that you are quite miserable at with your current accommodations." He paused for breath. "Thirdly: When I visited you in London…You were unhappier than I had ever seen before. Lastly: I see only two choices now before you." Margaret was looking away from him, staring hard at the ground, and her body entirely still.  
"You can either marry someone from society, as your aunt would allow nothing lower, or you remain at Harley Street with your Aunt Shaw and Cousin Edith, and abide by their standards." He sighed when he looked upon her face.  
"I cannot offer you my services for much longer." he continued. Margaret stared at him unfathomably, but said nothing. After a while, he could no longer bear to hold her gaze and looked away himself. "My doctor informed me that my days on this earth are limited." When he finally dared to look back at her once more, there were many different emotions on display, disbelief and sympathy being the most prevalent. Still he pressed on.  
"These are my motives, and what I'm offering you is your independence." He paused. "Isn't that something you crave? You would have safety, both personal, and financial!" Margaret shifted a little beside him, and he could tell by the tension in her stance that he had spoken something wrong. Perhaps even hurtful. "As my wife, you would have to remain by my side, I'm afraid…" He trailed off uncertainly. "But I can assure you that I have no desire to spend the last of my days in London. I had considered leaving England entirely, but ultimately the decision to stay here or travel abroad would be our decision to make together." He allowed himself a small smile at the plural form. He hardly ever used the term "we". "But mostly," he continued. "What I'm offering you is my death."  
Margaret stared at him incredulously, tears filling her eyes as a strangled sob broke free from her throat.

"Now now, don't be like that, it is unavoidable." He said, patting her hands comfortingly. "I'm always the scholar-never deny facts. I simply accept them, and come to conclusions accordingly. And here's the best bit: after my death, you will not only be rich, but the mistress of yourself, and will have no one to answer to.  
"I'm not quite so unselfish you see," He continued. "You're the only person I care for, and it would bring me great happiness to spend my life with you-well, what remains at least. I should like to pass with peace in the knowledge that you are safe, and at the very least not miserable."  
There was silence between them again, and until that moment Mr. Bell (who was still not looking at her), he had not realized she was openly crying. He stood and offered her his handkerchief. "I don't expect you to answer me immediately, of course." He said coolly. "But take this seriously, and think it over carefully. Do you have any questions?" Margaret stared at him absently, but did not answer.  
"Well," He continued, attempting to reclaim some sense of joviality. "You may speak, question, or remain silent as you please, but for heaven's sake, let us find some food!" He smiled his usual mocking grin at her, and when she took his proffered arm, he thought he spied a weak smile upon her lips.


	3. Chapter 3

_Because of my poor English I've asked for help. And I've got it from amazing Beta – coldie voldie. Now this story has two authors. Even if I have written the scheme of "Different way", this is she who is filling it with colours and life. Thank you, coldie voldie!_

Chapter three

Margaret remained silent during their lunch at the local inn. The entire train ride back to London was spent in silence. It was obvious that Mr. Bell's proposal was seriously meant, and likewise was a very serious decision to make. She found that she agreed with all his arguments. It was the perfect solution for her, it was logical, incontestable even…but what of love?  
She loved Mr. Bell, to be sure; he had always been a second father to her. But she was not in love with him. She had always been certain that she would never marry for less, just like her parents. But now…after his confession, she felt a compulsion to comfort him, to make the last of his days happy. But could she truly be his wife? For propriety's sake there was no other way to accompany him. She could tell that she was drifting towards this option, but there was something, deep in the back of her mind that troubled her greatly.  
Mr. Bell sat opposite her in the train car, and from time to time looked upon her with great curiosity. He knew she was thinking about his offer, and could practically feel her inner struggle. But he felt certain of her compassion and common sense. In his rather long life he had never attempted to achieve anything impossible, and would not have attempted this had he felt it was. It wasn't until they reached Harley Street that he spoke to her.  
"May I visit you tomorrow?"  
"Of course you can Mr. Bell." She said quietly. "Thank you." And he bid her goodnight.

The next morning found Margaret exhausted. She had practically spent the entire night going over Mr. Bell's proposal, searching for any error in his reasoning, and asking herself why she was even doing it. Her father was always a great adherer to logic, she supposed. It was one of the things he respected most about Mr. Thornton. She could still picture his voice clearly in her mind, as he debated various topics with her father.

"Logic would say…"

He was always like that; logical and forthright. He always used common sense. Well…almost always, at least.

"I wish to marry you because I love you!"

Margaret closed her eyes and sighed.

It was then that Margaret resolved to take a few leaves out of others' books. She would use her brain, and employ common sense. Especially in a matter that was so important, and would determine the outcome of her immediate future. Was this the right thing to do? After all, she was fond of Mr. Bell. Only…she was fonder of his logical debating than she was of the thought of him as her-husband. She sighed again. She needed to focus. The only other family she had left was Frederick. While she was certain he missed as much as she did him, he did not really need her. He was newly married, most likely starting his own family. She would not want to burden them. As for the rest of her family-Her Aunt Shaw, Edith and her husband, even by extension Henry-they truly did not need her at all, and was currently burdening them. No, London society held no appeal to her.  
She had no friends either. Unless you counted Nicholas Higgins, which Margaret did not. As true a friend he was, and as much as he might need her, Nicholas Higgins had more than enough on his plate with the recent addition of six orphaned children. And there was absolutely nothing she would be able to do for them even if she was there, despite how very much she wanted to. She had no other significant connections in the north.

"I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over."

That left Adam Bell, who was close enough to be family to her. And at least there was something she could do for him. She wouldn't feel so much of a burden that way. She craved to have a meaningful goal in her life. Something more than who she would be seeing that week, and how she would find something suitable to wear to such an event. It didn't matter how grand the goal was (running a mill for example). She wanted to do something good, something that was helpful, needed. These things she pondered all night, and the rising of a new day still saw her confused and undecided.  
And clumsy as well, she discovered. She was tripping on her own skirts, bumping into furniture, and dropping things at random. Indeed when Henry felt the need to inform everyone of the successful speculation and subsequent failing of Marlborough Mills at breakfast, Margaret dropped her knife. It bounced and landed hidden from sight, and it took her an embarrassingly long while to locate it. After that she had attempted to pour herself a cup of tea, and accidentally poured it all over the table and onto her dress. Even if it had not been a necessity, Margaret would have excused herself to change. An hour and a half later Edith found Margaret asleep upstairs, and it seemed she had finally found a small amount of peace.

And that night when Mr. Bell arrived, Margaret greeted him with a smile.


	4. Chapter 4

_Because of my poor English I've asked for help. And I've got it from amazing Beta – coldie voldie. Now this story has two authors. Even if I have written the scheme of "Different way", this is she who is filling it with colours and life. Thank you, coldie voldie!_

Chapter four

"I'm afraid I cannot wait any longer, Mrs. Thornton." Mr. Bell stated, leaving his chair and walking towards a large table. "I'm very sorry." He placed an envelope upon the ornate surface. "I've enclosed some important documents here for your son to look over, when he has the time." He said, indicating the envelope as he spoke. "He need only look over them and send a response accordingly back to my lawyer."  
"Of course." Mrs. Thornton replied somewhat stiffly. "I will see to it that he receives them." She stood from her chair. "I thank you for your visit, but you needn't have bothered. You might have sent these papers in the post."  
"No at all, Mrs. Thornton." Came Mr. Bells jovial reply. "I do like to say my goodbyes personally." He took a lingering glance around the rather unfriendly room.  
"Good bye then," Mrs. Thornton exclaimed proudly. "I would wish you happiness." She added after Mr. Bell bowed and directed his steps toward the doors.  
"Thank you Mrs. Thornton." He said with a smile. "I am certain that I will have it." He walked briskly through the doors then, and left.  
Mrs. Thornton felt somewhat irritated with his tone of voice and snorted quietly to herself while turning back to the sofa to resume her needlework. She worked quickly and efficiently, happy to have something to engage her hands and thoughts, for nearly two hours before she heard the familiar footsteps indicating her sons approach.  
"Where have you been?" she asked immediately, her voice harsh. Her son looked at her and bent down to kiss her cheek.  
"Good evening, Mother" He said wearily. He sighed deeply, before sitting in the chair Mr. Bell had recently vacated, and began to undo his cravat. "I had some urgent business to attend to." Mrs. Thornton knew that was the only response she would receive from him on the matter. Her son had been very tired and weary as of late, for many reasons, but after a prolonged silence he surprised her by speaking again. "And how was your day, mother?"  
"I had a visitor today." She said sharply, still somewhat irritated by Mr. Bell. "Your visitor, actually." She looked at him accusingly, but John looked at her curiously. "It was Mr. Bell" She replied to his unasked question."He claimed he needed to speak to you on some business matters. Waited for you for nearly two hours." John frowned, but made no reply. "I wonder, does he know of your difficulties yet?"  
"It is not difficulty mother, it is failure." He replied, sounding surprisingly angry. "I'm sure he is aware of the fact. There are many others who are." He sat silent, seemingly trying to calm himself down. "What has he said?" He asked eventually.  
"He only said he had some business issues to attend to before he leaves. Apparently he's going away on a rather long trip. A honeymoon." Mrs. Thornton said, resolutely focusing on her needlework.  
"What?" Her son replied, sounding genuinely curious. "So he is not as impervious to charm as we have all been led to believe." He smiled weakly. "Where has he found such a woman?"  
"In London." Mrs. Thornton replied, returning her gaze to her needlework. "It is Margaret Hale."


	5. Chapter 5

_Because of my poor English I've asked for help. And I've got it from amazing Beta – coldie voldie. Now this story has two authors. Even if I have written the scheme of "Different way", this is she who is filling it with colours and life. Thank you, coldie voldie!_

Chapter five

Mr. Thornton's bed remained undisturbed that night. After leaving his mother to her work, he retreated to the solitude of his bedroom, closing the door quietly, and taking up residence in the chair beside his desk. He lowered his face into his hands and sighed, while his mind raced faster than ever before. He tried to believe what his mother had told him, but part of his mind refused, stubbornly exclaiming 'It' cannot be true!' This was something he had never anticipated. He had prepared himself for the announcement of her engagement to a complete stranger, someone perhaps closer to her in age, but old Mr. Bell? Why? Mr. Bell was so much older than her, older even than her father!. He himself was older than her as well, but not old enough to be her father. Perhaps because Mr. Bell was so very rich? But no, that could not be it. When he had been wealthy and proposed, she had refused him. She was not material. He flattered himself by believing that he had come to know Miss Hale. And that fact alone led him to suspicion that there was something more behind her betrothal that he could not see.  
Perhaps the mysterious man from Outwood Station had come to her again, taken advantage of her, and refused to take responsibility. Mr Thornton immediately felt surge of compassion for Margaret. Unrequited feelings were something he understood very well. Perhaps her family-Her cold and lofty Aunt whom he had met just once-–Had forced this upon her. Perhaps Mr. Bell was saving her with this hasty wedding, as her last true friend. Mr. Thornton's mind was restless in imagining creative (and sometimes uncreative) reasons behind this wedding. But what purpose would come from conjecturing the truth? None, unfortunately. Save for satisfying his desperate need to know why Margaret, his Margaret, would marry Mr. Bell.  
Mr. Thornton suddenly remembered something, and reached to his pocket. A small yellow rose, whose petals were crumpled, but still held the beautiful scent within. His love for Margaret could not allow him to stand by while she married another man. But because of his love for her, he could not let her share in his upcoming shame and poverty. He had not seen her in months in any case. Even if he was not a failure, would she even want him? How much had she changed since he had last laid eyes upon her?  
He battled with himself all throughout the night, until finally making a decision.  
He would go to London and speak with her. He would ensure that she knew his intentions were good, and give her a choice. It was no less than she deserved. If for nothing else than the friendship he held with her late father, he would give her a choice. For her sake, and even for his. God knew he would never forgive himself if he did not at least try. And if she rejected him again, he would know that she wanted this marriage to Mr. Bell, that it would make her happy. And that was something that could give him peace of mind.  
The decision had been made, and his heart suddenly felt lighter.

*~*~*

Mrs. Thornton didn't know what she had expected from her son. She had hoped that he managed to forget the impertinent girl from South. Apparently that was not the case. After so many months away from her, the moment name her name was mentioned, his terrified eyes told her everything she needed to know. Half a second had not gone by before he corrected himself, and his mask of indifference slid back into place. It was not much longer before he excused himself and left her alone. She felt powerless, and wondered what terrible sin she had committed that left God punishing her son in every possible way.  
Next morning Mrs. Thornton was greeted by the sight of her son sitting at the table, eating his breakfast. She could tell immediately that he had not slept, but there was something in his countenance that gave her a sense of hope. His moves were full of energy, and he even looked as though he were a few years younger.  
"Good morning." She said warily. She did not understand his demeanor, but noticed his rather hasty gulps of tea. "Are you going somewhere?"  
"In fact I am, mother." He replied brightly. "I have an early train to catch."  
It was in that moment that a maidservant came in with a letter.  
"It was delivered in this moment." She said hastily, handing the letter to Mr. Thornton before bowing, and disappearing once more. From her position she could tell that this letter addressed to her son was, undoubtedly, written by Mr. Bell. Her son opened the letter and began to read. After while Mrs Thornton glanced at her son with curiosity.  
"What does it say?" She asked. He remained seemingly frozen with the opened letter in one hand, but did not respond to her . He was so deep in his thoughts that she had to repeat her question twice.  
"What does he want from you?" Eventually Mr. Thornton composed himself and started to read aloud.  
"As you are probably aware, in five days time I would call myself the happiest man in the world. And that is why I'm writing, to share my joy with you. I am aware of the trouble which is haunting you and Marlborough Mills, and am also concerned with the fate of your employees. I hope you that you do not feel offended by my proposition, the details of which are explained in the documents I left in Mrs. Thornton's hands yesterday. I wish you luck and happiness in every endeavour."  
"What papers does he mean?" He asked.  
"I told you about this papers yesterday." Mrs Thornton replied, and quickly left to retrieve them. "Here you are." She said, handing him the envelope. Mr. Thornton looked through them quickly.  
"And?" She asked, unable to bear the suspense of waiting.  
"Mr. Bell is offering me loan." He stated, his tone unreadable. "On very generous conditions." He stood slowly. "I must go." His voice was low and abrupt.  
"Where are you going?" She exclaimed to his retreating back. "It is over! The Mill is saved!" Her tone was fierce, both with happiness, and confusion. Her son stopped, already halfway through the door, but did not turn around.  
"You are right." He said gravely. "It is over."  
Mr. Thornton did not go to the south that day. Nor did he go the next. He could not bring himself to do anything against the happiness of the man who had shown him incredible kindness, and offered him a way out when no one else had.


	6. Chapter 6

_Because of my poor English I've asked for help. And I've got it from amazing Beta – coldie voldie. Now this story has two authors. Even if I have written the scheme of "Different way", this is she who is filling it with colours and life. Thank you, coldie voldie!_

Chapter six

Their wedding was quite a small affair, something that they both wanted.  
"I Margaret, take you Adam for my husband. To have, and to hold from this day forward. For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."  
None in the church knew the truth why Margaret`s voice trembled with emotion during the last words of her vow. None except Adam Bell, who gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head and a meaningful smile. She was close to tears, but determined to keep calm.  
Unfortunately, the beginning of her married life was anything but bliss. In fact, it was quite stressful for her. First: she had to move again, this time to Oxford. Mr Bell had made plans to start their wedding trip a few weeks after the ceremony, and she needed to adjust to being Mrs. Bell.  
Second: she was uncertain about Mr. Bell's expectations. On the eve of her wedding day, her aunt had spoken to her in private, and explained her so called "wifely duties". She could never dare bring such topic with Mr. Bell, and so it was that in the evening following the wedding Margaret listened anxiously to the steps behind her bedroom door. But nothing happened that night, nor any night following. So she relaxed, and soon became accustomed to her new situation. She could even go so far as to say that she was quite excited for their trip to Spain. She would see her brother again!  
But five months later she was a widow.  
She kept all the promises from the vow she made in the presence of God in the Oxford Church. Mr. Bell died happy. Margaret knew that, because he made an effort to assure her of it every day of their marriage. Not in words of course; he wasn't that kind of man. But he looked at her with great tenderness, seemed to crave her presence, listened to her opinions, and was very considerate for her every need and preference. He had been a good husband to her, and even if it was not real marriage, she felt lonely again .She was, for the first time in her life, completely independent. But she was also mean, and alone, with the exception Dixon, of course.  
Then, she was on her way to Oxford. She had to carry out the final two wishes of her late husband: to be buried in the cemetery near the university he called home for so many years, and he wanted a new life for her. And soon she knew, very soon, she would have to make a decision. 'It is not going to be easy though' She thought while getting out the train. And she was right.  
On the station she was welcomed by Henry Lennox.  
A few months before, when she had informed her family about her engagement, her Aunt Shaw took the decision without objections, while Edith of course had bombarded Margaret with questions and resentments. Finally she reconciled after a talk with Captain Lennox, who had eventually forbidden her to interfere. She changed course then, and kept busy with wedding preparations. But when Henry heard the news from his brother, he disappeared. For a few days they heard nothing from him. When he did finally come back, he avoided being with Margaret alone, and carefully chose the topic of conversation. He was always polite, but never looked her into eyes.  
Now however, he was waiting for her and was visibly happy to see her again

Later that evening at dinner, Henry explained to her that he had been sent by her Aunt Shaw, as she with her daughter and Captain Lennox had been stationed in Greece for the immediate future. He seemed very eager to help her in every way, most especially in legal issues. As well as he was entitled to bring her back to London as soon as possible. During just the last two days, he somehow managed to prepare the house for her arrival, to meet with Mr. Bell's attorney, to exchange overdue correspondence, and to conduct formalities with the funeral of her husband. He was very helpful indeed. And she felt so exhausted that she had no strength to fight him.


	7. Chapter 7

When Mr. Thornton received a letter from Mr. Crowley, Mr. Bell's attorney, he was confused. He had summoned for the reading of Mr. Bell's Will.  
Earlier that week he had received an official note from the same Mr. Crowley, which informed him of the death of his landlord during his journey abroad. His body was being brought in from Spain. Higgins, who had always asked him if there had been any news from Margaret, did not seem at all surprised when Mr. Thornton told him.  
"Poor girl!" He exclaimed later that evening amongst the children. "That brother - Frederic, he's all she's got left now."

Mr. Thornton was torn. He wondered if one man's heart could stand any more grief than his had already experienced. When she rejected him initially, he had suffered cruelly. When he saw her with another man, he was sick of jealousy. When she left after her fathers death, he yearned for her nevertheless. When she married Mr. Bell, he tormented himself with different visions, sometimes pictures from her happy marriage, and sometimes from her very unhappy marriage. He could not decided which were more painful. But for the moment his own complaints meant nothing. It was she who had just taken another blow, even if it was a sort of liberation for her. He was certain she was grieving. Even if she had not been in love with Mr. Bell, he had been a constant figure in her life since she could remember. He cursed propriety for giving him not right to even write a litter with his condolences, just so she might not feel as though she were , he decided against propriety. He would write her a letter, and hang the consequences. He penned a brief, but customary letter with his condolences, but could not resist the temptation to add his assurance and willingness to help, and sent it to Mr. Bell's residence in Oxford.  
After few days, he spotted the reply amongst a stack of other letters his mother handed over to him at breakfast. Mrs. Thornton immediately became anxious when he abruptly abandoned his breakfast, and rushed out to the mill without any explanation. She had noticed of course, the letter from Oxford, and she suspected some troubles with the terms of tenancy. But perhaps John was simply exaggerating.  
In the silence of his office, Mr. Thornton opened the letter with trembling hands. The note inside was very short, and to the point:  
"Mrs. Bell is grateful for your concern. We will let you know if anything is required. In the case of your tenancy, you may also write to the enclosed London address.  
With kind regards,  
Henry Lenox".  
Mr. Thornton slowly crumpled the letter in his hands, while desperately trying to name his feelings. He was angry and...disappointed? He shouldn't feel like his hopes had been crushed. He did not have any hopes regarding Margaret...did he?. He shouldn't expect anything more after their last talk at the Hale's home, after her father died. But he honestly did not expect that, so quickly after her rather short marriage, she would become part of a "we" with another man. Did he ever know Margaret at all? He really needed to get back to work. The mill had been working full steam for some time, to try and make up the deficit. Mr. Thornton grabbed onto his opportunity and took every single order the Mill had received to try and recover as quickly as possible. He wanted to prove his worth. He needed to prove his worth.  
Later that evening he continued working, like he had every other evening, when he heard light knocking at the door. "Who is it?" he snapped. He was astonished to see a little ruffled head slip in.  
"It is Tommy, Master. I have business to discuss with you." For the first time in a long time, Mr. Thornton felt amused.  
"Come in," he said and straightened up in his chair. "What is your business?" He asked when the boy approached his desk. Tommy took a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and put it on the edge of the desk.  
"I've come to ask you if you could give this to Miss Margaret, Master". Mr. Thornton frowned but the boy hastened with an explanation. "I know she is coming to England, I've overheard Higgins and Mary talking about it. Miss Margaret always has been kind for me. And she sent us clothes, books, toys and even pastels. I've heard she is alone and sad, especially with her brother being away, so I wanted to cheer her up". The boy stopped speaking, but upon hearing no reply from Mr. Thornton who was looking at him absently, he straightened himself and spoke louder. "I will work for you in exchange" Mr. Thornton came round at once, and stood abruptly  
"What?" He exclaimed. "What are you thinking of? Higgins and I have an arrangement so that you can learn, you would be unable to work for me while doing so. But fear not; I am in fact going to Oxford, and will deliver this letter for you. I promise." He ruffled Tommy's hair.  
The reading of Mr. Bell's Last Will took place at Mr. Bell's attorney's office. When Mr. Thornton arrived, there were only two more people aside from the lawyer: Mr. Kent and Mr. Lawson – old scholar friends of Mr. Bell. Margaret arrived last, and was more than astonished when she walked in the office and had saw Mr. Thornton there. He stood, an unreadable expression upon his face, and greeted her with an icy "Good morning Mrs. Bell," But watched her face closely. "I'm very sorry for your loss".  
She accepted his words silently and with a light bow, before immediately turning away to take her seat, and hide her tears. She conveniently placed herself on the farthest chair from him. They waited for a few minutes in a tense and uncomfortable silence, during which Mr Crowley tidied up his papers before finally breaking the seal on Mr. Bell's will. After the customary phrases and preface, Mr. Crowley started to read aloud of the beneficiaries. Mr. Lawson was to receive Mr. Bell's collection of insects and maps (in the name of old friendship). Mr Kent would get all his academic books from the four upper shelves in his study (to continue their common research), and Mr. Thornton would get all the books of Roman philosophers (as he was keen of ancient ideas). Mrs. Bell was to inherit the rest of his possessions, and while Mr. Crowley was specifying the vast wealth and numerous estates, Mr Thornton began started to wonder why he was even there, when his name was mentioned once more.  
"As to the loan which I obliged Mr. Thornton with, I am leaving decision to my wife. Seeing as how it was the only wedding gift she requested, I am confident she will make the right choice."  
The entirety of the time he spent in that room, Mr. Thornton used all of his self-control to remain impassive, and look straight ahead. But after those last few words he turned abruptly, and looked at Margaret in a stunned, and somewhat disbelieving silence. She glanced at him almost at the same time with unshed tears sparkling in her eyes. Then she bent her head, and he could see her form shaking with sobs. After only a moments worth of hesitation, he stood up to come closer. He could think of nothing he wanted more in that moment than the opportunity to comfort her, even if only a little. But Mr. Crowley, Mr. Lawson and Mr. Kent sat much closer to her and immediately rushed to her side. They unconsciously separated Margaret from himself for good. Two of them held her hands, and a third was offering his handkerchief. Mr Crowley called out toward the door of his office for someone to bring some water. Almost at once an assistant rushed into the room and right after him, Mr. Lennox appeared. Mr Crowley made them space in the front of Margaret and then noticed Mr. Thornton standing in confusion and turned to him.  
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Thornton." He said curtly. "Your inheritance will be delivered immediately after the date of becoming valid. I know you have a long way home. Good day". Mr. Thornton had no choice but to bow and take his leave. At the door he turned to look briefly at Mr. Lennox taking the charge of comforting Margaret


	8. Chapter 8

_Because of my poor English I've asked for help. And I've got it from amazing Beta – coldie voldie. Now this story has two authors. Even if I have written the scheme of "Different way", this is she who is filling it with colours and life. __Thank you, coldie voldie!_

He left rather dejectedly, but hesitated upon descending the stairs. The wedding gift, Lennox, London, the loan...all these piece of information raged about in his head. Slowly he finished his path down the stairs, and headed to the street. He needed to think this over. He crossed the street, spotting a little green bench underneath a cluster of trees. He sat on the nearest one which conveniently gave him good view on the opposite side of the street.  
The only thing Margaret wanted before her wedding was a loan for him. That was the only constituent. What did it mean? Did it mean something at all? She didn't like him; she didn't want to be honest with him, and explain her behaviour at the Train Station on that fateful night. There were very few people that she blatantly cared for, and none bore the name of Thornton. They were the workers. It was very probable that she insisted upon helping Marlborough Mills strictly because of the workers. Truth be told he thought it very noble of her, even though it was something they did not have in common. But when she had looked at him earlier there was something in her eyes he could not place... It wasn't tears either. One shouldn't be surprised, she had just lost her husband after all.  
At that moment the object of his thoughts appeared in the doorway of the building. She walked with heavy steps, never taking her eyes off the ground. Mr. Thornton stood up immediately, perhaps intending to go to her, but the sight of that Lennox fellow following her stayed his movements. Lennox offered her his arm and she accepted, supporting herself on him as he steered her toward a carriage that stood waiting nearby. He saw Margaret give a little smile to the coachman who opened door for her before she disappeared inside with that Lennox. Mr. Thornton sighed. What was it about her good heart, her kindness, her beautiful smile when they weren't directed at him? He continued to stare somewhat longingly at the carriage as it began moving. Just as it was passing him by, he caught a brief glimpse of her pale face behind the glass. "Look back." He whispered to himself. "Look back at me". For one small moment the small dark window at the back of the carriage became clear, and he could see two darker patches inside. Two patches that looked just like someones eyes.

It wasn't until very late that evening that Margaret was finally alone. Henry, although being extremely helpful and protective, was in fact rather exhausting. And now it seemed he felt offended as well. She had heard all about London since his arrival at Oxford. She had rather hoped to avoid the topic altogether and simply ignore his remarks, but he was unnervingly insistent on the matter. She had not been ready to make important decisions, or involve herself with quarrels before, but today was different; today she was ready for it. When arrived at her house Henry, who had sprawled himself across her favourite armchair by the fireplace, said with an air of nonchalance:  
"We have finished all your affairs here, Margaret. It is time for you to start packing". Margaret had also been feeling an experience of endings; more specifically and ending to her patience. She could not clearly recall everything she said to Henry in that moment, but his expression of hurt told her that it must have been something awful. He left immediately, and she suddenly felt free. But free for what? Unexpectedly, she remembered a tall silhouette of man underneath a tree. What was he doing there? She did not know when he left the attorney's office, as everything had been in such chaos, but she was perfectly aware of his cold behaviour toward her. He had refused to speak to her after all, even when the truth about her wedding gift came to light. She had fooled herself into thinking that he would understand. Yet she was mistaken about him once again. Even now however, she longed to see him again. She was so lonely and... independent?

*~*~*

Mrs. Thornton had closely observed her son since his return from Oxford. He had told her only that he had inherited some old books, and fortunately did not have to pay back the loan at the moment. But even through her sons unusual behavior, she found it was not what concerned her most. No, something that terrified her more was the prospect of the wretched girl from the South taking this opportunity to excercise her power over John. John himself was behaving rather strangely. A few months before, after he mysteriously received the money to restore Marlborough Mills, he expounded energy. He must have worked fourteen hours each day with the exception of Sundays; and even then he continued to work at home. During this time he was able to restore his business and raised himself back into an honorable position amongst the merchants of Milton. There were still inhabitants of Milton that were far richer than they, but Mrs. Thornton was not the only one who remembered that most of their wealth came from recent speculation, which she did not consider to be an honorable source.  
She had hoped John could now be proud of himself. She thought he would be happy; but she often caught him staring off into the distance with an expression of utmost despondency. He began to take his business correspondence with him to the office, as opposed to going over it with her during their morning meal. Sometimes in the evenings she would catch him writing something, only to tear it to shreds shortly afterward, and toss the evidence in the fire. There was definitely something weighing on his mind. Some form of trouble he did not want to share. Perhaps it involved that man, Higgins. John seemed to start strange hushed conversations with him, despite the fact that he was the leader of the workers union not so long ago. Sometimes she would see them both in the Mill yard in the midst of a heated conversation, as though they were equals. She really shouldn't have been surprised when John told her of the renovations he had planned to extend onto the back of the Mill. His statement had been rather blunt: that he intended to help feed his workers, by opening a kitchen! Her objections were all cut short by the words: "It is the least that I can do."  
And it was not the end. One day she was standing by the window and saw John with a little boy walking toward the house. They talked for several minutes, and she saw the boy smile up at her son. Then Mrs. Thornton saw a rare (especially of late) sight: John smiled back. They came to the door, and out of her line of sight. But she then heard voices in the hall, so she crossed the room in a few quick strides, and threw open the door. John and the unknown boy were disappearing into the library. "I have given him old Fanny's Fairy Tale novels, so he might practice reading at home." This was the only explanation she received when she expressed her displeasure at such a visitor. This was not to be born; it was not her John at all. She knew, beyond any semblance of doubt, that this was all from the influence of the Hale family. Old Mr. Hale with his old philosophy books, and Miss Hale who depreciated her character by placing herself in the company of hands from their Mill. Not only that, but doing so publicly! On her son's property! That was excluding her scandalous visits to poor district of Milton. She was contagious indeed.

Mr. Thornton wasn't pleased that Margaret was constantly on his mind. In fact, it disturbed him greatly. He felt as though he was doing everything as if she were watching him right then, and could judge his every action. Like he was living his life to fulfil her expectations. God knew he tried to fulfil her expectations. Every decision he made was preceded by the thought: 'Would this please her?'. And when he thought about their meeting at Oxford, He was greatly confused. But this meeting, despite how icy it was, gave him something more: a spark of hope.  
So he waited for something that would give him an opportunity. He craved to know if she had returned to London, for it would mean that she had returned with Lennox. After what felt like an eternity, he received a letter from Oxford. He had been waiting for a note from Mr. Crawley, so he was more than astonished to see that Margaret had written him with her own hand. She informed him that his inheritance from Mr. Bell was ready and waiting for him; and she had given him a choice as to how he would like to claim it. This was it: this was the very opportunity which he had longed for.

Margaret was full of anticipation and energy. She spent more time than she could keep track of supervising the cleaning of her house, before moving on to trying four different biscuit recipes in the kitchen. She could not decide which would suit the occasion the best, and she was horribly nervous. He was coming to her; she received his reply, and opened it with shaking hands. He had written that he had some business to attend to in Oxford, and would come to get his books from her personally on the following Tuesday. Now she was anxiously awaiting his arrival, looking out the window from her upstairs bedroom where she had the best view of the street. Finally she spotted his tall silhouette and froze.

He had been invited into the study. Evidently, it had been Mr. Bell's workroom. There was a large mahogany desk, two chairs, and two green, rather large and comfortable armchairs close to fireplace. He noticed a small table holding a vase containing flowers. Mr. Thornton could think of no man who put roses in own office, with the exception of dried ones. But It was obvious to him that a women was the sole occupant of this room now. He looked around curiously to every sign of activity that spoke of the woman's constant appearance, burning every image into his memory. He slowly approached a shelf on one of the walls; some of them were empty. It would seem that Mr. Kent had already claimed his inheritance. He his heart warm as he spotted a few titles that had been discussed in his lessons with Mr. Hale. He turned and moved closer to the fireplace. On the seat of the armchair he spotted a basket full of needlework. He could easily imagine Margaret sitting there by the fire, busy with a needle, with the warm tones of the firelight reflected upon her face. He picked up the basket and examined the pattern on the fabric. There were green leaves, and small yellow roses; he recognized them immediately. His eyes moved back to the fireplace, this time settling upon the mantle. Basket still in hand, he moved forward and saw that there were small picture frames resting peacefully upon it. He recognized Mr. and Mrs. Hale instantly – they were much younger than when he knew them, and he could see the youthful beauty in Mrs. Hale that he had not known before. There was a little child in white lace robe beside them, but he could not say if it were boy or girl. But the young man from the last picture he knew, and knew very well: it was the man from the station in Milton, the same one who embraced Margaret on the platform.  
So she loved him still, she had not forgotten. John felt sick. Not for the first time, he wondered just how much heartache the human heart bear.  
The sound of the door opening startled him, and he turned abruptly, basket slipping from his grasp the moment he locked eyes with Margaret.  
"Good morning Mr. Thornton" he heard her say without even a shadow of a smile.  
"Good morning Mrs. Bell." He answered, and feeling immensely confused, he knelt down to collect the items he dropped on the floor.


End file.
